The Poets and Poetry of Cecil County, Maryland Part 6

And more than this I've brought to pa.s.s, For I have made a lot of ground Produce the second blade of gra.s.s, Where formerly but one was found.

But now I love the calm retreat, Away from tumult, noise and strife, And in the works of nature sweet I learn her laws, the laws of life.

The monuments which I erect Will hand my name for ages down, While tombs of kings will meet neglect, Or worse, be greeted with a frown.

My trees will bloom and bear their fruit, My carp-pond glitter in the sun; My cherished grape-vines too, though mute, Will tell the world what I have done.

Now lest you think that I am vain, And that my trumpeter is dead, I'll drop this graceless, boasting strain, And sing of you, dear Coz, instead.

Of all my Cousins, old or new, I love the prairie chicken best, I see the rising sun in you,-- Although you're rising in the west.

The picture you are working on, I'd almost give my eyes to see, I know it is a striking one, For it is of the "deep blue sea."

But how you ever took the notion To paint a picture of the sea Before you ever saw the ocean, Is something that surprises me.

I'm glad you have the skill to paint, And pluck to labor and to wait; And too much sense to pine and faint, Because the world don't call you great.

True greatness is achieved by toil, And labor for the public good, 'Tis labor breaks the barren soil, And makes it yield our daily food.

Then cultivate your talents rare, And study nature's lovely face, And copy every tint with care; Your work will then have life and grace.

When fame and fortune you attain, And more than royal sway is sure, 'Twill be the majesty of brain, A majesty that must endure,

Till thrones of kings and queens shall tumble, And monuments of stone and bra.s.s, Shall into shapeless ruin crumble, And blow away like withered gra.s.s.

The world moves on with quickening pace, And those who falter fall behind, Then enter for the mental race, Where mind is pitted against mind.

While we are cousins in the flesh, In mind I think we're nearer still, Your genius leads you to the brush, But mine inclines me to the quill.

And now, my cousin fair, adieu, My promise I have somehow kept, That I would write a line for you, I hope you will these lines accept.

STANZAS

Addressed to Mr. and Mrs. T. Jefferson Scott, upon the occasion of the 24th anniversary of their wedding, March 2nd, 1882.

Kind gentlemen and ladies fair, I have a word or two to say, If you have got the time to spare, Sit down, and hear my humble lay.

No tiresome homily, I bring, To chill your joys and make you sad, I'd rather hear you laugh or sing, Than see you solemn, dull or mad,

A bow that's always bent, they say, Will lose its force and wonted spring, And Jack's all work and never play, Makes him a dull and stupid thing.

Man's greatest lesson is mankind, A problem difficult to solve, I've turned it over in my mind, And reached, at last, this sage resolve:

That when I know myself right well, I have a key to all the race, Thoughts, purposes and aims that tell On me, are but a common case.

There is a time to laugh and sing, A time to mourn and grieve as well; Then let your song and laughter ring, This is no time on griefs to dwell.

We've met to greet our friend, T.J., And tender our congratulations, Without forgetting Phebe A., In our most heartfelt salutations.

For four-and-twenty changeful years They've worn the bright hymenial bands, And shared each other's hopes and fears, And each held up the other's hands.

He, like a stately, giant oak, Has spread his branches wide and high, Unscathed by lightning's fatal stroke, Or tempest raving through the sky.

She, like a tender, trusting vine, Twines round and through and o'er the tree; Her modesty and worth combine, To hide what roughness there might be,

Beneath this cool, refres.h.i.+ng shade, The wretched quite forget their woes, The hungry find the needed bread, The weary wanderer, his repose.

Long live this honored, worthy pair!

May fortune come at their command!

And may their sons and daughter fair, Grow up to grace their native land!

And when their earthly toils are o'er, And they repose beneath the sod, Theirs be a home on that bright sh.o.r.e, Illumined by the smile of G.o.d.

BIRTHDAY VERSES.

Written for a little girl on her ninth birthday.

In the morning of life's day, All before is bright and gay, All behind is like a dream, Or the morn's uncertain beam, Falling on a misty stream.

In the morning of thy youth, Learn this sober, solemn truth; Life is pa.s.sing like a stream, Or a meteor's sudden gleam; Like the bright aurora's blaze, Disappearing while we gaze; Soon the child becomes a maid, In the pride of youth arrayed, And her mind and form expand To proportions great and grand; Then she changes to a wife, Battling with the ills of life; Thus we come and thus we go, And our cups with joy and woe, Oft are made to overflow.

Each returning bright birthday, Like the mile-stones by the way, Will remind you as you go-- Though at first they pa.s.s so slow That behind there is one more And, of course, one less before; Watch the moments as they fly, With a never tiring eye-- Since you cannot stop their flow, O! improve them as they go.

ROLL CALL.

Written on the death of William Sutton, a member of the order of Good Templars.

Call the roll! Call the roll of our band, Let each to his name answer clear, There's danger abroad, there's death in the land, Call the roll, see if each one is here.

The roll call is through, one answers not, Brother Sutton, so prompt heretofore, Has answered another roll call; the spot Which knew him shall know him no more.

He's at rest by the beautiful river, Which flows by the evergreen sh.o.r.e, Where the verdure of spring lasts forever, And sickness and death are no more.

O alas! that the righteous should die, While sinners so greatly abound, In the world that's to come we'll know why, The latter inc.u.mber the ground.

This mystery we'll then comprehend, And all will be plain to our sight, Then dry up the tears which flow for our friend, In full faith that G.o.d doeth right.

IN MEMORIAM

RENSELLAER BIDDLE.